


Thoroughfares of Stone

by UchiHime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cutting, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mpreg, Self Harm, ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UchiHime/pseuds/UchiHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When James cheats on Lily with Sirius, Lily teaches Harry that being gay is unnatural and wrong. But Harry has a secret and he hates himself for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoroughfares of Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Mandy Brocklehurst is **not** an OC. If you open your books to Harry's sorting ceremony, you'll see her being one of the first people sorted into Ravenclaw. You never see mention of her again, but she is there.
> 
> Title from the last stanza of the Thomas Hardy poem "The End of the Episode"  
>  _Ache deep, but make no moans:_  
>  _Smile out; but stilly suffer:_  
>  _The paths of love are rougher_  
>  _Than thoroughfares of stone._

**Thoroughfares of Stone**

“If you won’t tell her, I will.” Sirius pushed passed James and stormed into the kitchen where Lily was washing up the last of the dinner dishes. She always cleaned up the Muggle way, saying that using magic for every little task would only serve to make her lazy.

Lily looked up, startled by the sudden loud intrusion. The wet plate she held nearly slipped from her hands when she saw the blazing anger in Sirius’ eyes.

“What’s going on?” Lily asked, carefully submerging the plate in the dishwater and leaving it there at the bottom of the sink.

“Sirius, don’t do this!” James pleaded, grabbing his friend’s arm and trying to tug him back out of the kitchen. He looked frantic.

“Either you tell her, or I will.” Sirius repeated with steel in his voice.

“Tell me what?” Lily asked, wiping her wet hands of the dry towel stuffed in the strings of her apron. She looked between James and Sirius, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “And keep your voices down, you’ll wake Harry.”

“It’s nothing, Lils. C’mon, Siri, we’ll talk about this outside.” James said quickly, tugging harder on Sirius arm. Sirius refused to budge and Lily wouldn’t have been surprised if the look in his eyes set fire to the entire kitchen.

“It’s not nothing. I’m tired of pretending that everything we have is nothing. Tell her, James.”

James looked as if he was going to cry. “Please, Sirius, let’s just talk about this.”

Sirius would not be moved.

“This has nothing to do with her. If you say anything, I will hate you forever.”

“This has everything to do with her! You chose her over me because of Harry. Well, now it’s time you reconsider that choice.”

Lily lost her patience with watching the two of them go back and forward. “Whatever is going on, one of you better tell me something. Right now.” Her tone was one she usually reserved for Harry when he was being particularly difficult.

Sirius set a heavy glance on James, obviously expecting him to do the talking. All of a sudden, James was crying. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed as he hadn’t since Voldemort had killed his parents when he was seventeen. He hadn’t even cried like this when Harry had been kidnapped by Death Eaters. Or when they’d found him, unconscious next to the dead Dark Lord.

The sight of her husband so suddenly breaking down froze Lily in place, but Sirius didn’t look at all fazed by James’ out of character behavior.

James was saying something that Lily couldn’t quite make out. She took a half step towards him but stopped when his words started to make sense. “I’m so sorry, Lily. I’m so sorry.” At first she thought the next words he’d said was ‘I love you so much’ but then James repeated them and Lily felt as if someone cast a stinging hex on her heart. “I just love him so much.”

Lily suddenly wished she had her wand in hand. “What is going on?” She asked slowly.

All the anger and bravado seemed to melt out of Sirius in an instant. He closed the space between him and James and wrapped an arm around Lily’s husband. James’ sobs ceased as he leaned into his best friend’s embrace.

“What is going on?” Lily repeated, forgetting to keep her voice down. Down the hall, Harry woke with a cry.

“I’m pregnant, Lily.” James said and Lily wished the softly spoken words had been drowned out by Harry’s startled cries.

Lily stared in open-mouthed shock at James and Sirius, half wanting to ask him to repeat the words to be sure she’d heard right, but also not wanting to hear him say them again because she knew she’d heard right.

Harry’s cries grew louder, the toddler having got out of bed and started making his way towards his parents’ voices.

“Get out.” Lily said.

“Lils,” James mumbled.

“Get out!” Lily repeated louder. “Leave! Now!” If she’d had her wand, Lily knew she would be casting curses at the two men. “GET OUT!”

Harry screamed. He was standing in the doorway behind his father and Sirius. Lily shoved to two men out of the way and gathered her two year old son in her arms. With one last glare at her unfaithful husband, she carried Harry away from them.

Lily closed herself up in Harry’s room and sat down on the floor next to Harry’s low toddler bed. She didn’t realize she was crying until Harry’s small hand touched her face. “Mama sad.” Harry said, his green eyes filled with tears. “No be sad.” Lily only cried harder. Harry looked at her helplessly. “Daddy!” He yelled. “Daddy! Mama sad! Daddy make it better!” Harry screamed for his dad a few more times, before he realized he wasn’t coming. “Mama where daddy?” Harry asked. He was crying again now.

“Oh, Harry. My little bear,” Lily mumbled, pulling her son into her arms and holding him tightly to her. “It’ll be okay, Harry. It’ll be okay. But listen to me, Harry. Listen to mama, okay. Your daddy is going to live with Sirius from now on.”

“Why?” Harry cried.

“Your daddy loves Sirius. But he loves him in a bad way. Two men aren’t supposed to love each other the way your daddy loves Sirius. It’s not natural. It’s wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Yes, wrong, Harry. It’s very wrong. And bad.”

“Bad?”

“Yes, bad. Daddy and Sirius are bad.”

“’cause they love?”

“Because it’s not right for two men to love each other like that.”

“It’s wrong.”

“That’s right, Harry. It’s wrong.”

…

Harry sees him for the first time when he’s eleven years old and about to board the Hogwarts Express for the first time. He’s standing in the middle of the platform, but Harry can tell by the way everyone just moves around him that he’s the only one who can see him.

He smiles when he sees Harry, but his brown eyes still look very sad. Harry knows who he is despite not having seen him since he was two. It’s probably because they look so much alike. That, and the fact that Harry once found a picture of him while looking through his mother’s things. Harry’s mother had looked happier in that picture than he’d ever seen her. Laughing and smiling in the arms of a man with messy dark hair as they twirled around in the snow.

That box of old photos and trinkets had disappeared the next time Harry had gone looking for it, but he’d already memorized every detail of the picture. It was the only way he knew what his mother looked like smiling from the heart. It was the only way he knew what his father looked like full stop.

Harry’s gaze is pulled away from the man by his mother’s voice. “Look at those poufs. Disgusting.” Across the platform, there’s two men standing too near each other to be anything but lovers. One has a toddler sitting on his hip and they’re talking to a young girl that resembles them both.

Harry looks away from them quickly. He tugs on his mother’s arm. “I gotta get on the train,” he tells her.

Lily looks at him and the disgusts melts off her face. “You’ve gotten so big, Harry,” she coos, trying in vain to rub his hair down flat. “I swear you were just a little baby yesterday, but look at you now. Heading off to Hogwarts. And you’re looking more like… I’m so proud of you, Harry. You have to owl me and let me know what house you go to. Don’t be afraid to wear your cloak in the halls. The castle gets drafty and I know how you hate the cold. Oh, and tell me all about the friends you make.” She fusses over him for a while longer, before Harry pulls free of her.

“I gotta go,” he says as the trains lets out a warning whistle.

“Alright, alright,” Lily says, running her hands through his hair once more. “Give me a hug now.”

Harry presses into her arms and squeezes her tight. He hates how she tries to baby him all the time, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her hugs.

“I love you, little bear,” Lily says, using his childhood nickname.

“Love you too, mama bear,” Harry tells her.

“Go now, before I cry,” Lily shoos him towards the train. “Take care of yourself.”

“You, too.” Harry calls over his shoulder as he rushes to board the train. While he stands in the doorway waving at his mother, he lets him eyes drift towards the man in the middle of the platform. James Potter waves when he catches Harry’s eye. Harry hesitates for a moment, before giving a short wave back and quickly disappearing into the corridor of the train.

He finds a car quickly and spends the entire trip trying not to think about the sad smile his father had given him.

…

Harry is sorted into Slytherin. He’d begged the hat to put him anywhere other than Gryffindor because he knew it would hurt his mother’s heart to see him in the red and gold his father wore when they’d first met. He already knew that it hurt her to see how much he looked like him.

His best friend is Theodore Nott.

For Christmas that year, Harry stays at Hogwarts. His mother is visiting her sister and Aunt Petunia had never like Harry since the time his wild magic had set her rose bushes on fire when he was six. That hadn’t been Harry’s fault, though. His cousin Dudley had been trying to steal Harry’s candy at the time and he’d lost control. Aunt Petunia had like him even less for implying that her perfect little Duddly-kins could do any wrong.

He receives a Christmas present from his father for the first time that year. It’s an invisibility cloak. A family heirloom, the note says. Harry hides it in the bottom of his trunk. He lets Theo take it home over summer vacation because he’s scared that Lily might find it.

He sends James a letter saying thank you. When James writes back, just hoping to keep in contact with him, Harry never replies. It only takes two unanswered letters to keep James from writing him again. Harry’s actually a bit disappointed.

…

Harry sees him again when he’s fourteen. It’s on Platform 9 ¾ again, but this time Harry isn’t the only one who can see him. He’s standing with his arms wrapped around another man. There’s a little boy with them, most likely a first year. James is smiling, but there’s no sadness in his eyes this time. He doesn’t even notice Harry standing a few feet away, watching them.

“C’mon, Harry!” Theo says. Harry follows him onto the train without a word.

…

His father’s son is named Caelum Black. He’s sorted into Gryffindor, and Harry is glad. Being in different years would keep their interactions to a minimum, but different houses made it almost nonexistent.

When Harry exits the Slytherin dormitory the next morning, Caelum Black is waiting for him in the hall. “Can we talk?”

“I’d whether not,” Harry tells him shortly. “Come on, Theo. We don’t want to miss breakfast.”

The kids steps in front of him to block his path. “I really think we should talk.”

“And I really think we shouldn’t.” Harry tries to step around him, but Caelum Black stretches out his arms to block his path. He’s tall for his age. The same height as Harry and Harry’s three years older than him. But Harry’s also short for his age, taking after his mother more than his father. Still, Harry’s pretty sure he can push his way through without much effort.

“Please,” Caelum Black says, and Harry loses his resolve.

He sighs. “I’ll meet up with you later, Theo. See if Professor Snape will let you get my schedule for me.”

Theo frowns as he gazes between Harry and Caelum Black. They look somewhat alike. They both have James Potter’s messy black hair, but Caelum Black has gray eyes. They have the same nose, though, and the same jawline. They both bear striking resemblance to James Potter. Or was it James Black now? Harry’s mother had gone back to using her maiden name, but Harry’s surname was still Potter.

Lily hated that. She’d wanted to change his name to Evans, too, but James had put his foot down. He insisted that Harry was the Potter family heir and he would carry the Potter family name and if she fought him on that, he would take it to the Ministry of Magic who would _always_ award custody of a child to a pureblood over a Muggleborn. Lily was smart enough to pick only the battles she knew she could win.

“Alright, Harry, see you later.”

When Theo rounds the corner, Harry turns to look at the kid who he refrains from even thinking of as his little brother. “You have three minutes,” he tells him. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to meet my older brother. Dad talks about you all the time.”

Harry carefully hides away everything he’s feeling. “I am not your brother. James is not my father. And you will never speak to me again.”

The kid looks as if he’s been struck. He opens and closes his mouth as if trying to find the right words to say. He finally snaps his mouth closed and turns away, storming off without saying anything.

“That was a bit harsh.”

Blaise Zabini is casually leaning against the wall beside the Common Room entrance. He has one perfectly arched eyebrow raised in judgment of Harry’s words and Harry is hit with the sudden urge to hex him just for existing.

He glares at him, then turns away. Following the path Caelum Black had taken, Harry heads towards the Great Hall to find Theo.

…

A week later, Harry has a dream.

It’s not his first time having a wet dream, but it is the first time the vague images and sensations take on a bit more clarity. He supposes that he always knew the truth. That his dream lover was more hard muscles than soft curves. That his fingers were tracing the etched planes of a smooth chest and not massaging mounds of supple breasts.

He wakes up with the image of a hard cock rubbing against his own engraved on his mind. He casts a cleaning charm on the sticky mess in his boxers and tries not to cry.

…

Harry avoids sleeping and dreaming by taking late night walks around the castle, concealed under the invisibility cloak. He wanders aimlessly most nights, but some nights he heads toward the astronomy tower, telling himself that he needed fresh air, though he knows the truth.

Tucked into a corner of the tower, hiding under the cloak, no one knows Harry is there. He watches as couple after couple comes to the tower looking for a bit of privacy.

He usually only plays witness to a few snogging sessions, most of which are quickly broken up by patrolling prefects and professors before they can transition to something more. On a few memorable occasions, he gets to see a bit more.

There’s only the barest hint of guilt sitting heavy in his stomach as he watches lovers slowly undressing each other. He watches every bit of skin as its slowly revealed. He traces his eyes over breasts and hips and that secret place between smooth thighs, all bathed in moonlight, and he wills himself to feel something. He listens to soft pants and breathy moans and waits for the stirring in his groin that means he’s normal.

Always, he’s disappointed.

…

Harry quits the Quidditch team when he finds himself staring at his teammates in the changing rooms. The whole house protests. Draco Malfoy is reserve Seeker and he’s not bad; he’s just not as good as Harry. They try both bribes and intimidation to get Harry to play again, but nothing moves him. He dedicates his free time to his studies instead. His professors, at least, are happy with this turn of events, especially since his late night wanderings left him too tired to participate much in class.

But it’s not enough. He still finds himself staring at the other boys in the dormitory. He takes to casting mild stinging hexes on himself when he finds his eyes wandering.

When he’s in the astronomy tower one night and he finds himself unable to look away from Blaise Zabini’s cock sliding pass Terry Boot’s lips, not even his strongest stinging hex is enough.

…

Her name is Mandy Brocklehurst. She’s a Ravenclaw in Harry’s year. She’d been not so subtly flirting with Harry for weeks and when Harry asked her to go to Hogsmeade with him, she tells him the time and place to meet her without hesitation.

She drags him to Madam Puddifoot’s and spends their entire meal playing footsy with him. Harry tries to hide how uncomfortable he is, and he thinks he succeeds if the way she hangs off his arm the entire walk back to the castle is anything to go by.

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?” She asks when he walks her up to the Ravenclaw dormitory. Harry’s extremely nervous, but he knows he can’t pass up such a blatant invitation. Her lips are soft and taste like artificial cherries from her lip gloss. He keeps it short and sweet and hopes she can’t tell how completely indifferent about it he feels.

“I had a great time today, Harry,” Mandy says. “You’re such a gentlemen. I can’t wait to do it again.”

“ _You’re such a gentlemen_ ,” a voice mocks behind him when Mandy disappears into her common room. It’s followed by low sniggering, and Harry turns around, ready to curse whoever is there.

Terry Boot is hiding his face in the side of Blaise Zabini’s neck and Blaise has a smug grin on his face.

Harry blushes bright red. Unable to stop his mind from flashing back to what he’d seen in the astronomy tower that night. He grips his wand tight in his hand, but any words he can think of saying dies on his tongue.

He really wants to knock that grin off Blaise’s face, but more than that, he wants to hex Boot out of existence.

He does neither. He shoves passed them. “Bloody poufs,” he mumbles.

A hand grabs his wrist before he can get away and he turns to meet Blaise’s angry look. They just stand there, staring at each other for a second, before Harry yanks his arm away and runs off down the hall. He hears Boot yelling something after him, but Blaise says something to quiet him.

Harry doesn’t return to his dormitory that night, because he doesn’t want to see Blaise.

…

Instead of the astronomy tower, he goes with Mandy to an empty bathroom on the second floor. The ghost that haunts the place is nowhere around and Mandy assures him no one ever goes there. It takes a few cleaning charms, some transfiguration, and a softening charm to make the room usable for their needs, but soon Mandy is lying back and Harry is kissing her soft lips.

She unfastens the first few buttons of her blouse, and Harry traces kisses along the edge of her lacy bra. He slides a hand up her thigh, pushing up her skirt and feeling the warm dampness of her knickers. She makes a noise and Harry assumes he’s doing something right.

He doesn’t think about any of it. Doesn’t think about how he really doesn’t like the taste of her lip gloss, or how he wishes removing her bra wasn’t so difficult, or how the soft folds between her legs made his stomach feel fluttery in a not good way.

When Mandy’s hand snakes down his pants, he remembers the heat of Blaise’s hand and the tight grip he’d had on his wrist and the fire in his eyes. He remembers other parts of Blaise, too. His caramel brown skin. His perfect six pack abs. The broadness of his shoulders. The dark color of his cock as it slid in and out of Terry Boot’s mouth.

When he slips inside Mandy’s welcoming heat, it isn’t her he’s thinking about at all.

Not long after that, Mandy rights her clothes and reapplies her lip gloss. He doesn’t hear the words she says and only distantly notes the sticky kiss she leaves on his cheek before she exits the room.

Left alone with nothing but the silence and his thoughts, Harry can’t help the tears that spill down his cheeks. He stumbles over to one of the sinks and splashes water on his face. He catches sight of his reflection in the mirror and he swears its James Potter staring back at him.

In a moment of fury, he smashes his fist into the glass, his magic lashing out and making sure the mirror shatters on impact.

A shard of glass cuts the side of Harry’s wrist and all he can do is stare, watching the blood spill down into the sink.

…

In Charms the next day, Mandy motions Harry over to sit with her. Terry Boot and Blaise Zabini are seated in front of her. Harry doesn’t even think before sitting next to Theo on the other side of the room. He doesn’t notice the hurt look that flashes across Mandy’s face.

After class, Mandy grabs his arm as soon as he exits the room and drags down the hall with her. “What was that in there? I saved you a seat. Why didn’t you sit with me?”

“I wanted to sit with Theo,” Harry says with a shrug, unable to meet her eyes.

“You can sit with Theo at lunch. Instead, you made me look like a fool saving a seat for you.”

Harry sighs and stares down at his feet. “Look, Mandy, I don’t think this is working.”

“You don’t think what is working?”

“Us,” Harry says. “You’re a great girl, but…”

“You’re not breaking up with me,” Mandy states, as if the very idea of it was absurd.

“I’m sorry, Mandy. I just don’t think I’m ready for a relationship. It’s not you, it’s…”

She slaps him. Twice. “Fuck you, Harry Potter.”

Harry doesn’t even watch her storm off down the hall.

…

“I thought the asshole-ness of Harry Potter was limited to little brothers he doesn’t have and ‘bloody poufs’ but apparently I was wrong.”

“What are you on about, Zabini?” Harry growls, looking up from where he was using his penknife to sharpen his quill. He’d retreated to the library for his free period after lunch so that he could try to work on his Transfiguration essay in peace. Of course, as Fate would have it, peace wouldn’t be awarded to him.

“Mandy Brocklehurst,” Blaise says, grabbing the chair next to Harry and spinning it around so he could straddle it. “Everyone’s talking about what you did to her.”

“I didn’t do anything to her.”

“So you didn’t fuck her and then break up with her the very next day?”

Harry slaps his penknife hard against the table top and glares at Blaise. “Who I fuck is none of your business, Zabini.”

Blaise smirks and leans forward to grab Harry’s Transfiguration essay from in front of him. “You see, I would give you that,” he says as he takes Harry newly sharpened quill and dips it in his inkwell, “if you didn’t have such a problem with who I fuck. You say ‘pouf’ the same way some people say ‘mudblood.’”

Harry can’t help but flush with embarrassment at that statement.

“But that’s not what we’re talking about now,” Blaise says as he writes something on Harry’s essay. “We’re talking about poor, heartbroken Mandy. How could you do that to her? She’s a sweet girl and you just used her. That’s low, Potter. Very low. And here I was thinking you were a gentlemen.” His voice oozes sarcasm and he never once looks up from whatever he’s writing on Harry’s essay.

“It wasn’t like that; I didn’t use her.”

“Didn’t you?” He sets down Harry’s essay and meets his eyes. Blaise’s eyes are blue and startlingly out of place on his dark face. There’s something in his gaze that feels like a dagger straight through Harry’s heart. He makes himself look away, reaching for his essay and sliding it towards him.

He’s shocked to find that what Blaise had written were corrections and comments and a small list of books that had more information on the subject. When he turns to say something to Blaise, the seat next to him is empty.

…

The penknife he uses to sharpen his quills isn’t very sharp itself, but it does its job. Harry presses it into the soft flesh on the inside of his thigh and bites his lip as the skin splits open. Red blood spills out and turns pink where it mixes with the translucent white mess he’d made of himself.

He’s sitting in the middle of his bed, completely naked, with his curtains Charmed closed. The air around him smells sharp and he hasn’t quite managed to catch his breath yet. He rubs in fingers over the cut on his thigh. It stings when the sticky semen still on his fingertips get into the wound, but Harry keeps rubbing it.

He feels like he can finally breathe.

…

Blaise makes a habit of randomly showing up wherever Harry is. He usually just grabs a seat and starts talking. If Harry is working on homework, he digs through the piles of parchment until he gets his hands on Harry’s Transfiguration assignment and edits it for him. Harry doesn’t complain because his grade in the class started improving because it.

Blaise just talks on and on about nothing in particular. He doesn’t care if Harry listens or not. And he doesn’t press Harry to talk back. Harry finds himself learning a lot more about Blaise than he’d ever learned in all the years they’d been sharing a dorm.

He learns that Blaise is the top Transfiguration student in their year. He learns that Blaise’s mother is on her sixth husband. He learns that Blaise is struggling in DADA. He learns that Blaise and Malfoy have been friends since they were in nappies. He learns that Blaise and Terry had broken up because Blaise was looking for more than Terry was ready to give.

“I know fourteen is a bit young to be looking for monogamy and commitment, but that’s what I want. I guess, after seeing my mother go through relationships quicker than Draco goes through hair gel, I crave something steadier. Not some whirlwind romances that fizzles and dies with the morning sun, but a deeper more lasting love. The forever kind of love. Terry wasn’t ready for that.”

Eventually, Harry starts talking back to him. First it’s just little things, like asking him to expand on some topic or other. Then he starts editing Blaise’s DADA homework the way Blaise does his Transfiguration. He tells Blaise what he needs to do to improve spell work. He tells him how he didn’t have many friends before Hogwarts. He tells him about growing up in the Muggle world with his mother, but never feeling like he was really a part of it because he always knew about magic.

He doesn’t tell him how his heart does a weird flippy thing in his chest at learning Blaise wasn’t with Terry anymore. He doesn’t even admit that part to himself until he’s in the privacy of his bed with the curtains closed and his hand is stripping his cock raw to thoughts of Blaise and he feels like he’s suffocating under the weight of everything he’s feeling and the only thing capable of making him breathe again is the sting of the penknife slicing open his thigh.

…

When Blaise kisses him, Harry cries as he cuts open his skin. He remembers everything his mother said.

Bad. Wrong. Unnatural. Disgusting.

He carves the words in deep, jagged lines, ignoring the sting of his salty tears hitting the wounds. Ignoring all the blood spilling out. He doesn’t even notice when his wand rolls off the bed and clatters to the floor, the wood stained with blood.

It takes the combined effort of Theo and Blaise to get his Charms down and his bed hangings open. He’s so lightheaded from blood loss, he doesn’t even notice them standing there.

They don’t take him to the Hospital Wing. Theo is good enough with healing charms to close the wounds and Blaise steals a blood replenishing potion from Draco’s stash. They spell him asleep.

When he wakes up, Blaise barely speaks to him. Theo won’t even look at him.

…

“How’s Mandy?” Harry’s mother asks as they wait in line on the Platform to get Harry’s luggage. “You should invite her over this summer.”

“Mandy and I aren’t together anymore. We haven’t been for a while.”

“Well, I would have known that if you’re written me more.”

“Sorry, mum, I got really busy and stuff.”

“It’s okay, I guess. Are you seeing anyone else, then?”

“No. Mandy and I ended on a bad note. I think I’m kinda put off dating for a while.”

“That’s perfectly fine, you should be focusing on your studies anyway.”

Harry hears a familiar voice and turns to see Caelum Black laughing with his parents. Lily follows Harry’s gaze and frowns. “Here’s your trunk,” she says sharply. “Let’s get out of here, little bear.” Harry notices how she gives James Potter a wide berth, but continues watching him from the corner of her eyes.

…

Over the summer, Theo doesn’t reply to Harry’s letters, not even the invitation to Harry’s birthday dinner. Harry doesn’t even bother looking for him on the Hogwarts Express. He decides it’s for the best. It’s is O.W.L.s year and he wouldn’t have much time to worry about friends anyway.

To his surprise, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy sits with him on the train. They don’t say anything to him, until Malfoy has to leave for a prefects’ meeting.

“How was your summer, Harry?” Blaise asks him.

Harry looks up from the book he’d been reading. “It was fine, thank you,” he says. He regrets meeting Blaise’s eyes because now he can’t look away.

“And how are you?” Blaise asks.

“I’m fine.” He has to force the words out.

Blaise smiles at him. “I was wondering if you would help me with Defense this year, I’m still no good at it. I’ll, of course, help you with Transfiguration in return. What do you say?”

“I’m not sure that’ll be a good idea.”

“Neither am I, but I’m willing to make the effort. I like you, Harry. I want to be your friend.”

“Just friends?”

“Just friends.”

“Alright then.”

…

Being friends with Blaise isn’t as difficult as Harry had thought it would be. There’s just something about Blaise. It’s easy to be comfortable around him and hard to be anything else. Blaise was usually a pretty private person, but he always talks freely with Harry. He kept the times they weren’t focusing on assignments filled with light chatter about anything and everything.

He talked about Malfoy and about their professors and about letters he’d received from his mother and about things he needed to do next Hogsmeade weekend and about Quidditch and anything else that might cross his mind.

Harry finds that he really likes Blaise. Likes him more than he should. It becomes a nightly thing, jerking off to thoughts of Blaise and slicing his thighs in atonement. He’s a whole new level of wrong now. It’s not just that he’s having unnatural feelings, but he’s having those feelings about someone who wants nothing more than to be his friend. He’s tainting the innocent relationship they have with his disgusting desires.

There’s so many cuts on the inside of his thighs, he finds it hard to stand sometimes. It’s agony to walk when every step aggravates the slowly healing wounds.

He knows that Blaise notices, but he never speaks a word about it. Until one day Blaise does say something. He says “no more” and he takes Harry’s penknife and puts it in his pocket.

Those misplaced blue eyes look into Harry’s and all Harry can do is nod.

…

Three days later, Blaise takes the knives that are part of Harry’s potion’s kit.

Two days after that, he takes all of Harry’s quills with a metal tip.

The day after that, he wrestles Harry’s wand away from him and just holds him as Harry breaks down.

…

When Harry kisses Blaise, Blaise doesn’t kiss him back.

“I’m not going to be a way or reason for you to hurt yourself. I care about you, Harry. I care about you a lot. Too much to do this while knowing you’re not ready for it.”

…

Caelum Black is sitting at the table in the library where Harry usually sits with Blaise. Its two days after the kiss that wasn’t a kiss and three weeks since Harry had last cut. He’s edgy and uncomfortable in his own skin and he doesn’t think he’s ready for whatever conversation that’s about to happen. He wants to turn around and walk away, but Caelum Black looks up and meets Harry’s eyes and Harry knows he can’t just leave.

“I was told that it wasn’t very Gryffindor of me to give up after only one conversation,” Caelum Black says when Harry sits down across from him. “But the only reason I’m a Gryffindor is because I begged the hat to put me there. It wanted to put me in Hufflepuff, but my dad was already upset about you being a Slytherin, I didn’t want to disappoint him too.

“The thing is, I feel like I’m a disappointment to him anyway. I’m top of my class, but I’m still not you. I’m not perfect little Harry, so I’m not important.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“Oh, I know that. After you so thoroughly shut me down last year, I asked around about you. The general consensus is that you’re actually pretty okay when you’re not being an asshole. The problem is that when you’re an asshole, you’re _really_ an asshole. Mandy Brocklehurst and I bonded over how much of an asshole you are.”

Harry lets out a long slow breath. “Is there a point you should be getting to? What do you want, Black?”

“I just want to understand. I get why you hate my dad for leaving your mom, but what did I ever do to you? All my life I heard about my big brother, Harry. He’s the perfect son and perfect godson, so he’s gotta be the perfect brother, too, right? I was so excited about meeting you. And then I actually met you.”

“Well, I’m sorry for being such a disappointment. But maybe you should remind your parents that I’m not two years old anymore and they know absolutely nothing about me. They’re the ones who filled your head with bullshit, not me. I’m enough of a fuck up without adding you or them to the list of people I have to please. I’m not perfect. I’m just Harry. And if that’s not enough for you, then bugger off. I’ve got enough problems on my own.”

Harry pushes back his chair and gets to his feet. Blaise is standing there watching them and Harry just walks pass him to get out of the library. When he reaches the hall, he runs.

But he can’t run far enough or fast enough to get away from the chaos in his mind.

…

Harry doesn’t return to the dorm that night. He wanders around the castle under his invisibility cloak until the wee hours of the morning. When the finally returns to the dungeons, Blaise is asleep on a couch in the Common Room. Harry wakes him and they both head to their dorm room.

He says nothing as Blaise watches him undress, knowing exactly what he is looking for. There are no new cuts on Harry’s body, and he can read the relief in Blaise’s eyes.

They get into their beds without speaking a word.

…

When Harry makes it one month without cutting, Blaise rewards him with a kiss. They both realize after the fact that it probably wasn’t the best reward to give, all things considered. But Harry is surprised to find that he’s okay with it. He’s okay with kissing Blaise. It doesn’t make guilt sit like acid in his stomach. It doesn’t fill him with the urge to tear open his skin in some misbegotten repentance.

It feels different from their first two kisses and _way_ different from kissing Mandy Brocklehurst. Blaise’s lips are both soft and hard against his and they completely dominate him. Harry finds that once he starts kissing Blaise, he doesn’t want to stop. And Blaise agrees, shown by the way he plies apart Harry’s lips and uses his tongue to lay claim to everything within reach. It makes Harry’s toes curl and leaves him breathless.

It’s a good kind of breathless.

…

It becomes a thing that they do.

In the library.

In the dorm.

In hidden alcoves between classes.

It’s nice. Easy. Natural.

Harry likes the way he feels when he’s pressed against Blaise. Like he’s small. Like he’s safe. He doesn’t understand how he ever could have thought this was wrong.

…

One month of kisses and two months without cutting later, one of Harry’s dreams come true.

They’re in Blaise’s bed with the curtains close. They’ve been kissing so long, Harry feels kinda lightheaded and floaty. Blaise has a hand up Harry’s shirt, and it’s hot against his skin but nothing new. Blaise caresses him slowly and it’s like he’s unraveling him. Like he’s pulling at string that’s making Harry come completely undone, eliciting low moans and deep groans as he goes.

When Blaise’s hand snakes down Harry’s pants, Harry lets out a startled sound. Blaise pauses and Harry bucks his hips to urge him on. When Blaise grips him in hand, Harry’s thoughts blank out. All he can think of is the heat of Blaise’s hand, and the tight-but-not-too-tight grip on his cock, and the fire in Blaise’s eyes.

He comes with a loud cry.

And then, without understanding why, Harry starts to sob. Blaise casts a cleaning charm and gently tucks Harry away, then gathers him in his arms and just holds him.

Harry can’t stop crying, and he clings to Blaise as if afraid he’s going disappear. He accepts the soft mumbled words, and the soothing hands rubbing over his skin, and the gentle kisses pressed to his face and head. He accepts all the Blaise has to offer him.

He knows it’s love that Blaise is giving him, but he doesn’t understand why this love hurts.

…

 

They do talk about it this time.

“I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” Blaise says. “If you feel like I’m going too fast or pushing pass your boundaries, you have to tell me. Just say no and I will stop.”

“I didn’t feel pressured, just a bit out of my depth. It was too much. It was like I was floating off without an anchor. My mom…”

“Your mom has nothing to do with what goes on between me and you.”

“I’ve been told all my life that it’s wrong to feel this way, Blaise. It’s going to take more than a couple months to move passed that.”

“I understand that, Harry. I thought you were ready, but apparently I was wrong. But I’m not going to know what you are and aren’t ready for if you don’t tell me.”

“I thought I was ready too, and I was okay while it was happening. It was afterward. It felt like everything I ever thought I knew had just been proven wrong. It was startling and a lot to take in. It was too much. But I’m okay, now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I love you, Harry.”

“I… I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Okay.”

…

He waits for Caelum Black outside the Great Hall. “Can we talk?”

He can tell that Caelum is hesitant and understands why, considering how their previous two conversations had gone. But Caelum waves off his friends and follows Harry as he starts walking down the hall with no destination in mind.

They walk for a while, not saying anything, drifting deeper and deeper into unfrequented parts of the castle. “I owe you an apology,” Harry finally says. “You were right, you never did anything wrong and it wasn’t fair for me to treat you like I did. I’m not sure if I’m ready or able to be the big brother you wanted, but I’m willing to try being your friend if that’s okay with you.”

...

Harry finds Theo when he’s packing to leave for the holidays. They hadn’t said more than a few words to each other the entire semester and Harry finds that he really misses his best friend. Theo doesn’t even notice Harry watching him because he’s too busy emptying out his school bag and searching through his trunk.

“They’re in your drawer,” Harry says. Theo looks up, startled.

“You’re looking for you silver inkwells right? The ones you only use for formal correspondence? You don’t like bringing them to school, but your father makes you. So you stuff them in the of the drawer of your bedside table so you’ll know where they are if you need them, but you never need them so they end up getting pushed to the back of the drawer as you add and remove stuff. You always forget they’re there and end up tearing the dorm apart when it’s time to go home.” Harry crosses the room as he talks and opens Theo’s bedside drawer. He reaches into the back and pulls out the elusive inkwells. “It’s time to go home, and they’re in the back of your drawer. Like always.”

“Thanks,” Theo says softly, taking them from Harry’s hand but not meeting his eyes.

Harry sighs. “It’s been two months, one week, and four days since I last cut. And I’m not counting the days because I miss it. I’m counting because every time that number goes up, I feel proud of myself. I feel I accomplished something. I know you may not understand it, feeling a sense of accomplishment for going a day without hurting myself, but it’s really hard for me. I didn’t know how much I needed it, until I stopped. There are days that I feel like things would be so much simpler, everything would make so much more sense if I could just cut out all the crap. But I’m learning to find healthier ways. And I’m doing so well. Blaise is proud of me. I’m proud of me. But I really miss your friendship, Theo. And I would like it if we could start over.”

“I miss being friends with you, too, Harry,” Theo admits. “But I’m not sure if we can start over. I don’t understand how I could ever had thought of myself as your best friend and miss that you were doing that to yourself for so long. And I don’t understand why you would feel the need to do that to yourself when you could have come to me if you were having problems. Obviously, I wasn’t a very good friend to you.”

“It was never about you, Theo. I was going through a lot, and it never occurred to me that I could talk to someone about it. I was too ashamed.”

“I am proud of you, Harry. And I’m glad Blaise is helping you, but I’m not sure if I can be what you need. I don’t think we can go back to the way we were. I’m sorry.”

Harry swallows the burning lump in his throat and nods his acceptance. “I understand.”

“I’ll write you over break, okay.”

“Okay.”

…

Harry and Blaise are the only Slytherins I their year to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas. They spend their days flying and having snowball fights and wandering aimlessly around the castle. On Christmas day, they wake up early, get a picnic breakfast from the House Elves, and carry their presents up to the astronomy tower.

They watch the sunrise, huddled together under one of Blaise’s spelled warm blankets, drinking hot chocolate. They make a mess of the tower ripping open their presents, and Harry is sure their laughter can be heard clear across campus.

They return to the tower on New Year’s Eve. They drink butterbeer and Blaise sings as he twirls Harry around under the star and they kiss under the moonlight at midnight.

Harry had never felt so happy.

…

It happens the night before the rest of the students are due to return. They’re in the dormitory, and they’ve already made a mess of Harry’s bed-sheets once, but Blaise is kissing along his neck and collarbone and Harry’s already hard again. Blaise’s wandering hands are wandering lower and lower and Harry has no desire to resist his bold explorations.

Blaise’s kisses follow the path of his hands and soon his tongue is tracing the scars on Harry’s thigh and Harry’s heart is jumping in his chest. The kisses backtrack, moving up to more needy areas. Harry keens as Blaise laps at his balls, and he stops breathing all together when his tongue drifts to previously unexplored territory.

Blaise pulls away and slides up the bed until he’s face to face with Harry. “I want to make love to you,” he says. “But if you’re not ready, I won’t press you.”

Harry’s heart is pounding and there’s only one answer can think to give. “I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I want it. I want you.”

Blaise kisses him long and slow and Harry’s flushes when he realizes what the musty taste on his tongue is. “We can stop at any time,” Blaise tells him. “All you have to do is say so.” He kisses him again. “I love you, Harry.”

Harry surprises even himself when he says, “I love you, too, Blaise.”

The light in Blaise’s eyes is well worth it.

Everything seems to melt together after that. It’s all one continuous stream of pleasurable sensations with a few highlights. There’s more kisses and touches and heated looks. There’s a slight burn as Blaise’s fingers stretch him open and it actually hurts a bit when Blaise first enters him. But then Blaise starts moving, and Harry swears he’s never felt anything so perfect.

Afterward, he’s boneless and warm and Blaise is wrapped around him, and there’s nowhere else Harry would whether be.

…

They get very busy very fast once classes start back, and all Harry and Blaise have time for are quick kisses between homework assignments and revising for their O.W.L.s.

Right before the February Hogsmeade weekend, Harry gets a letter from his mother. She says she missed seeing him over break and that she hopes to have lunch with him in Hogsmeade.

Hogwarts and Hogsmeade had become a little bubble of paradise for Harry. A place where he could love Blaise and it wouldn’t be bad, wrong, and unnatural. The knowledge that his mother would soon be intruding on his safe place falls so heavy in his gut, Harry actually runs from the Great Hall to the nearest bathroom and empties the contents of his stomach.

Blaise follows him and rubs his back as he retches into the toilet bowl. “I don’t want to see her,” Harry says and the tears on his face aren’t just from the gagging. “I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to go back to the way I was.”

“Shh, Harry,” Blaise says, running his fingers through Harry’s hair. “You won’t go back. I won’t let you.”

“Is he alright?” Caelum Black asks, peeking into the stall where Harry is slumped on the floor.

“He will be,” Blaise says, and there’s so much assuredness in his voice, Harry almost believes him.

…

That night, Harry gives his penknife, his potion knives, his metal-tipped quills, and his wand to Blaise. Before he gets into bed, he adds a tally mark to the paper in his desk drawer and he reminds himself of how far he’s come. And he thinks about how much it would hurt Blaise if he had to start all over.

…

He vomits again before he leaves, but he assures Blaise that he’s fine. He makes the trip to Hogsmeade alone, Blaise having promised to spend the day with Malfoy long before Lily’s letter arrived, Theo still not really speaking to Harry, and Caelum being too young to visit the village.

Lily is waiting for him outside the Three Broomsticks and she pulls him into her arms the moment he’s within reach. “You’ve gotten so big, little bear.”

“And you’ve gotten so old, mama bear,” Harry teases. He loves his mom and he really is happy to see her. He’s just not ready to let her know that he’s become the thing she hates. He doesn’t want to be a disappointment to her. He’s not ready to know the answer to the question of whether or not she would still love him if she knew.

They have lunch and chat about things and Harry forgets all about his worries, until Lily asks, “So, you seeing anyone now?”

“I barely have time to sleep between all the homework and O.W.L.s prep work. Where am I meant to fit in a social life?”

“You sure you weren’t meant to be a Ravenclaw? Your father…” She cuts herself off.

“Slytherins are just as studious as Ravenclaws,” Harry says to drag her attention away from wherever her thoughts were wandering. “We gotta keep our brains sharp for all the scheming and world domination plots, after all.”

“World domination? That doesn’t sound like you, little bear.”

Harry shrugs casually. “Everyone knows the snake pit is a breeding ground for dark lords.”

It was the world’s best kept secret that Harry had been there when the last Dark Lord had died. The only ones who knew were his parents and a few members of the Order of the Phoenix. It made no sense to spread around the information, considering Harry had only been a baby at the time and there was no evidence that he’d had anything to do with what happened.

“If you have time to plot world domination, they’re not working you hard enough. Perhaps I need to talk to Dumbledore and your professors about adding to your workload.”

“You know what, world domination is so overrated. The only thing I want to dominate is my O.W.L.s that’s more than enough excitement for me.”

“I thought so.”

…

When Harry gets back to the school, Blaise is waiting for him in the dorm room. “How’d it go?”

“It was nice,” Harry tells him. “I didn’t realize how much I missed her.”

Blaise smiles and holds his arms open, Harry steps into his embrace and sighs contently.

…

Harry’s stomach remains unsettled and Harry thinks it’s probably stress. He’s barely staying afloat in the sea of coursework and O.W.L.s prep he’s doing. Blaise casts worried glances in his direction, but accepts Harry excuse about being stressed.

He thinks he’s proven right when February drifts into March and Harry reaches a point where he’s accustomed to the workload and his nausea ceases. But things come to a head in late March. Harry’s in astronomy class, looking through his telescope, when he promptly faints.

…

“You’re pregnant, Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey says.

Harry replies instantly, “Get rid of it.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option at this point. With female pregnancies, there’s a window of about three months after conception where termination is considered a safe option. That window is shorter for male pregnancies and it varies from wizard to wizard. When your pseudo-womb bonds completely with your magical core, any attempts at terminating will result in the loss of your magic and risks the loss of your life. The shock you felt that caused you to fall unconscious was your pseudo-womb snapping into place, so to speak, and binding properly with your core. A day, or even just a few hours, earlier and that option would still be on the table. But, now…”

“Don’t tell my mom,” Harry pleads with tear-filled eyes.

“Mr. Potter…”

“If you have to alert my parents, tell my dad; James Potter… Black. He should be in the contact information for Caelum Black. Just don’t tell my mom, _please_.”

Madam Pomfrey sighs. “I’m not going to contact anyone tonight, Mr. Potter. You just get some sleep right now, and we’ll face this with clear heads in the morning.”

…

It’s late. Madam Pomfrey had long ago left him to sleep. He’d declined the potions she’d offered, claiming he was tired enough to rest without them.

He isn’t tired at all.

He’s restless in a way he hasn’t been for months.

He thinks about the facts. He’s fifteen and pregnant. He can’t tell his mom because she’ll hate him. Because he’s disgusting and unnatural and wrong. He can’t tell his dad because he doesn’t really know him. Because he’s spent years trying his hardest to prove he’s nothing like him, but he’s just like him. He can’t tell his boyfriend. He just can’t.

He places a hand on his stomach. There’s a baby in there and it just doesn’t seem real. It just doesn’t seem right. None of this is right. He’s not meant to be pregnant. This is a punishment. A punishment for being a disgusting pouf that just can’t keep his legs closed.

He’s lost. There’s so many jumbled thoughts in his head, he can’t keep them all straight.

He just wants to sleep.

His wand is on the bedside table next to him and his schoolbag is sitting in the chair. His penknife is in his schoolbag.

He thinks it’ll only take a little to release the pressure. Just one small little cut, and he thinks he’ll be able to sleep easy.

He thinks about Blaise.

He thinks about his mom.

He’s crying and he can’t stop.

He just needs a little to take the edge off. Just to help him sleep.

He reaches for his bag. Hesitates. Reaches again. Stops. Curses. Looks towards the window. Clenches the bedspread. Sobs.

…

“As the matron of this school, Mr. Potter, I have an obligation to inform the headmaster of any life threatening ailment a student contracts. And it’s the headmaster who contacts the student’s parents. If it’s a matter of urgency, I can bypass the headmaster and alert the parents myself.”

Harry nods solemnly. She’s basically saying it’s not up to her whether or not his mother is told. It had been only a small hope.

“But,” Madam Pomfrey continues, “While it is life-altering, a pregnancy is not life threatening and I see no reason why it can’t stay just between myself and the concerned parties, for now.”

Harry looks at her with wide eyed surprise, but before he can even think of what to say, of how to express his gratitude, she silences him with a stern look and a raised hand.

“I cannot and will not keep this secret forever and there are conditions to my silence. The main condition being that you find a way to inform your mother yourself, and soon. You won’t be able to hide it forever. My other condition is that you report to me regularly for checkups. Are we clear on this?”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey, thank you so much.” Harry feels that he might cry.

…

Blaise shows up after breakfast, just as Harry grabs his wand and un-banishes his school bag. “I was so worried about you,” Blaise says, offering a small smile relief at Harry’s apparent health. “What did the matron say?”

“She says it was stress,” Harry lies, unable to meet Blaise’s eyes as he does so.

“I’m going to have to help you relax then, aren’t I?” Blaise reaches for Harry’s hand, and Harry pretends to be busy checking the contents of his bag so as not to let Blaise touch fall on him.

“Right now, all I want is sleep. And I’m taking the day off from classes to do just that.”

“Want me to stay with you?”

“No, you go to class I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” Blaise glances around to make sure the coast is clear, before leaning in to kiss Harry. Harry pulls back as subtly as he can, but doesn’t avoid the lips that land on his for just a small second. Blaise frowns. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, just tired. Go on to class before you’re late.” Blaise looks wholly unconvinced, but heads off anyway with a muttered ‘see you later, then.’

…

Harry does spend that day in bed, but he doesn’t sleep. The first thing he does is take the parchment from his bedside table and counts the rows of tally marks over and over. He’d come so close to giving in the night before, and he’s not entirely sure if his resistance was good or bad.

He lays down on the bed and lets his thoughts chase itself in circles for hours on end. When he gets hungry, he uses his cloak to sneak down to the kitchen and let the elves fall over themselves trying to serve him. The he heads back to his bed and lays there with thoughts again.

When Blaise comes to see him after classes, Harry pretends to be sleep.

He skips dinner.

When his dorm mates are getting ready for bed, Harry keeps up his sleeping act. He’s relieved when all Blaise does is look in on home, before going off to get in his own bed.

…

Harry spends the weekend catching up on the work he missed from skipping classes. Blaise sits at the table with him, but when all his questions and probing are replied to with monosyllabic answers and noncommittal noises, he stops trying to talk to Harry and just works on his own assignments instead.

When they break for lunch, Harry finds a seat in the Great Hall between Theo and Goyle. There’s not enough room to budge over and let Blaise sit next to him. Harry pretends not to notice and immediately engages Theo in a conversation the Charms work instead.

Blaise ends up sitting across the table from Harry and spends the meal sending him questioning looks that Harry makes a point of ignoring.

…

“Have you told your mother yet?” Madam Pomfrey asks as she reads the results of the spells she’d cast on him.

“Not yet, I haven’t figured out how.”

“Well, there’s a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. I think that’ll be the best time to tell her in person, don’t you?”

Harry shrugs noncommittally.

Madam Pomfrey sighs and puts down her wand. “You need to tell your mother, Harry. The longer you keep it secret, the harder it’ll be when it comes out.”

“I know.”

She sighs again. “Have you at least told the other father?”

“No. I can’t tell him. I can’t.”

“Harry, you don’t need to go through this alone. You have to tell someone.”

…

Harry waits for Caelum Black outside the Gryffindor common room. He hasn’t talked to him since his brief hospital stay weeks ago, and he can tell Caelum is irked by this considering they only just became something resembling friends.

“What do you want?” The boy asks, arms folded over his chest, foot tapping impatiently.

Harry hesitates for only a second, before saying, “I want to talk to your dad. Have him meet me Hogsmeade weekend at the Three Broomsticks.”

He doesn’t stick around to hear Caelum’s reply.

…

Harry doesn’t know what to expect, meeting James Potter for the first time. He doesn’t know what he expects James Potter to be like. Will he be the laughing and smiling man from the photograph, twirling Lily around in the snow? Or will it be the sad eyed man standing invisible in a sea of people watching Harry board the train? Or is he the loud, boisterous man hanging off his husband’s arm and teasing his son? Or maybe he’s really the man Lily said he was: a lying, dishonest bully who knows nothing of faithfulness and loyalty.

It’s none of those men that meets Harry in Hogsmeade.

It’s an awkward nervous man who’s only seen his son from a distance for the last thirteen years. It’s a man who stands up the moment he sees Harry and accidentally knocks over both his mug of butterbeer and his chair. It’s a man who fumbles with words and napkins trying to clean up his mess, before Harry draws his wands and vanishes it away. It’s a man whose hazel eyes crinkle in the corners when he gets a good look at Harry and can’t fight back his smile. It’s a man who makes two aborted tempts at hugging him, before quickly motioning Harry into a seat.

Harry doesn’t know what he expects to gain from meeting James Potter. Spending three hours answering questions about his childhood and how he’s liking school and what it like is being a Slytherin, isn’t at all what he expected. Nor is the way James genuinely wants to know the answers and all about Harry anything near what he expected. But it’s nice. And Harry feels more at ease than he has in over a month.

And then James asks, “So is there a special someone in your life?”

Harry thinks about Blaise, but shakes his head. Blaise had finally taken a hint. He’d stopped trying to kiss him the twelfth time Harry had pulled away. Stopped trying to hold his hand after only the fifth. Stop inviting him into his bed after only the second denial. They hadn’t officially broken up, but they’d never officially labeled themselves as a relationship either.

This space the Blaise is giving him is everything that Harry wanted, but it still makes him want to cry.

“Oh, I know that face,” James says. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m here for you if you do.”

Harry crumbles. He doesn’t talk about it, can’t bring himself to do so, but he does cry. James gets out of his seat and pulls Harry in his arms, rocks him back and forward like he’s a baby and tells him, “It’ll be okay. Just let it out. It’s alright now, I got you.”

…

At the beginning of May, Harry notices his clothes are a slight bit tighter. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and pulls up his shirt. He wouldn’t have seen it, had he not been looking for it, but it’s undeniably there.

He places his hand on the small curve. It feels firm under his touch and his stomach’s doing a familiar flip-floppy thing that he can’t tell his good or bad and he can’t tear his eyes away.

…

Blaise sits with Terry Boot in Charms class. He studies with him in the library and walks with him in the halls. They’re always smiling and laughing about something and are just a minute bit closer together than they need to be.

There’s a lump in Harry’s throat and a burning in his eyes.

Blaise no longer sits with Harry at lunch. He no longer corrects his Transfiguration assignments. He avoids looking at him in the halls. Doesn’t say more than “hi” and “bye” to him when they’re together. And it’s what Harry wanted, but it doesn’t make it hurt less.

Harry is wandering aimlessly around the school grounds. It’s a clear day out and Harry wishes he could fly, but Madam Pomfrey has forbidden it. Still, his feet leads him towards the Quidditch pitch and he can see other people in the sky and there’s no reason why he can’t go and watch. But then he sees Blaise and Terry running across the pitch. Terry has a practice quaffle in his arms and Blaise is chasing after him. He catches him, wraps an arm around his waist and lefts him right off the ground, spins him in a circle until that both fall dizzily into the grass.

Harry turns and walks away.

…

Harry takes the parchment out of his bedside table drawer. He counts the columns of tallies over and over then reaches for his self-inking quill to add another. The tip of his quill is cracked, so he reaches in his bag for his penknife to sharpen it.

He counts the tallies again. And once more.

He remembers how happy Blaise looked playing on the Quidditch pitch with Terry.

He thinks about the way his favorite t-shirt, which used to fit him like an old friend, stretches over his growing belly and fails at hiding anything.

He thinks about Caelum Black and James Potter.

He counts the columns of tally marks over and over again.

His quill is sharp enough now.

He sits the penknife on his bed.

He counts the tallies one last time.

…

He thinks someone is screaming, but he can’t really hear it over the rushing sounds in his ears. He feels like he’s underwater. Floating away. Completely numb.

He hears voices, distantly, but he can’t quite make out what they’re saying. They’re yelling, he knows. Maybe even crying. But he doesn’t understand why. He doesn’t know what they want.

“Harry, please. C’mon, Harry, please.”

…

James Potter is sitting by his bed when Harry wakes up in the Hospital Wing, and Caelum Black is lying in the bed next to him. Harry understands right away what’s going on. Madam Pomfrey couldn’t call James for Harry because James isn’t listed as an emergency contact for him. She could, however, call James for Caelum. Harry would wager that she hadn’t yet called Lily either. He’s almost positive the school matron had been a Slytherin, or else had spent enough time with Slytherins to learn their tactics.

“You almost bled to death last night,” James says by way of greeting. “You cut your femoral artery. Madam Pomfrey still isn’t fully convinced it hadn’t been a suicide attempt, despite what Blaise Zabini said. She’s taking his word for it because you have scars that go back at least a year.”

Harry looks down at his thighs, hidden from sight by the bedspread. They’re not bleeding and they don’t hurt at all. He knows they’ve been healed. He probably won’t even have a scar to show for it. Madam Pomfrey had done a good job of erasing all signs of the damage Harry had inflicted on himself.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” Harry says.

“I know that. I had a long talk with Blaise Zabini. It was very enlightening.”

“If you’re here to tell me I’m stupid or anything of the like, you can save it.”

“I’m here because Poppy said my son needed me.” James is looking him in the eyes and Harry feels as if all his barriers are breaking down.

“I’m scared,” he admits with a burning lump in his throat. “I don’t know what to do.”

James gives him a small, reassuring smile and pats Harry’s hand. “We’ll figure it out, don’t worry. I’m here for you, little bear.”

…

Blaise arrives at the hospital wing just before Harry’s mother. Harry doesn’t even notice her, because he’s immediately swept up in the fuss Blaise is making.

“Never scare me like that again!” Blaise yells, ignoring their audience and rushing straight to Harry’s side. “I thought you were dead. This is the second time I’ve found you lying in a pool of your own blood. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? I thought we were over this, Harry!”

Despite his yelling and chastisements, Blaise’s hands are moving over Harry, touching every part of him that he can, as if to be certain Harry’s all there and in one piece. Finally satisfied with his finds, Blaise pulls Harry into his arms and clings to him.

Harry thinks about Blaise and Harry on the Quidditch pitch and about how Blaise doesn’t even look at him anymore, but he doesn’t care anymore.

“I’m so sorry, Blaise.” Harry says, clinging to Blaise just as tightly. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much. I’m sorry.”

“Lily,” James says, a warning in his voice.

Harry looks up from where his face is buried in Blaise’s shoulder and finally notices his mother standing there, wand clenched tightly in a white-knuckled fist. “What the hell is going on here?” Lily asks slowly.

Harry has never seen such a look in his mother’s eyes and any words he might want to say freezes in his throat. Blaise takes a defensive stance in front of Harry, draws his wand and watches Lily with cold eyes.

“Lily, put your wand down. You’re scaring Harry.”

“What the hell are you even doing here, James?”

“I’m here for my son.”

“That’s your son over there,” Lily says making a jerky motion towards Caelum. “You worry about him. Harry is my son, and none of your concern.”

Suddenly, every wand in the room flies from their owner to land in a neat pile on the bed beside Madam Pomfrey. “None of that in my hospital wing,” the matron says tersely. “I will not having you upsetting my patient. Mr. Potter needs his parents right now. He’s in a delicate state and your hostility isn’t making anything easier for him. So, if the two of you can’t act like mature adults and listen to your son, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

…

Even after Lily and James put aside their differences and sat down to hear what Harry had to say, Harry finds it hard to speak. He doesn’t know where to begin. He doesn’t know how much Madam Pomfrey has told everyone, but he’s pretty sure it was only the bear minimum. She would have left the hard part for him to reveal.

Blaise is at his side and he’s holding Harry’s hand like he hasn’t done in months. It grounds him a bit, but the way Lily is looking at them throws him off-center. Everyone is silent, waiting for him to speak.

Harry looks from James to Lily and back again and he finds no answers there.

He turns to Blaise. Those out of place blue eyes meet his and they’re so calm and patient, Harry finds himself speaking before he even knows it. “I’m pregnant.”

Speaking the words out loud makes it all so much more real, but the fire that ignites in Blaise’s eyes makes him think that maybe everything will be okay after all.

That is until Lily speaks. “Get rid of it.”

Things unravel quickly after that. Within seconds, Lily and James were yelling at each other. Lily accusing James of corrupting Harry. James saying Lily is an unfit mother. Harry watches the heated volley of harsh and untrue words being flung, growing increasingly distressed with each passing second.

He feels like he can’t breathe. He hates knowing that he’s the cause of this.

“ENOUGH!” Madam Pomfrey yells, her voice booming over the fighting pair. “You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves!” She continues when Lily and James are startled into silence. “Nitpicking at each other like a couple of two year olds, never mind that you’re upsetting Harry when he’s already going through enough. Your son is scared out of his wits and you two can’t put aside your differences long enough to comfort him. Shame on you both. I have half a mind to throw you out, but your boy needs you. So you’re going to sit right there and talk to him like the adults you’re meant to be.”

Blaise and Caelum were sitting on either side of Harry, holding him in their arms trying to comfort him while Madam Pomfrey gave his parents a dressing down.

James looks embarrassed by his behavior. He mumbles an apology as he lowers himself back into the chair he’d vacated.

Lily looks completely unrepentant. “I have nothing to say to any of you,” she says. “Harry got himself into this situation, he can see himself out of it.” She grabs her wand from the pile by Madam Pomfrey and turns to leave.

“Mum, please,” Harry calls out. “I’m sorry, mama bear. Please don’t leave.”

Lily pauses. She turns to face Harry and just looks at him for a long, silent moment. Then she shakes her head and walks out without another word.

Harry gives up the fight against his tears.

…

He remembers how James had told him that everything would be okay, but he can’t seem to believe it anymore. He swears nothing will ever be okay again.

She’d left.

She’d just walked away and left him there.

How was that okay?

How was any of this okay?

**Author's Note:**

> This story is **not complete** (I think there'll be one more chapter), I'm just not sure how inclined I'm going to be to work on it.
> 
> I am on tumblr [here ](http://littleredtriskele.tumblr.com)(primarily a Teen Wolf blog and currently hiatusing).


End file.
